Darkness and Light
by wanderingraincloud
Summary: Between the shadows of 1940s New York, and the darkness she carries inside, it would be easy for the Silhouette to lose herself. Rated for language, violence, sexual activity, and sick predatory criminals getting what they deserve. Also contains f/f.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I neither created nor own the characters/universe I am playing with. I am also not making any money doing it.

**Warning:** Here there be femslash. If you don't like it, don't read any further.

Tied to a chair, the man smiled at his captor. He stared into her eyes, and licked the blood from his split lips as if he enjoyed the taste.

"Its your fault, you know," he taunted softly, gaze flicking over to the small body on the bed.

"Mine?" she asked. Her voice was like an Austrian blizzard, but her blood boiled as she stalked towards him. She lifted the crop over her head, ready to strike.

"Yeh," the sick smile turned into a grin, "If you hadn't been busting in here, forcing me to rush, she might have survived it!"

Rage burns through her. It flares in her eyes, blinding her to everything but the monster's leering face. The Silhouette is gone, a shadow consumed by flames so bright they eclipse the very light that made her. Ursula wants him dead. Dead for what he'd done to this child. Dead for the pain and terror he'd caused. Dead for his blonde hair, and his laughing eyes, and the pride he took in the evil he'd done. He is just like THEM. They took everything, and now she can kill just this one. For the girl, the scars on her own back, and her sister. She knows G*d will forgive her. Her blood boils over, too hot for her veins to hold, and curdles in her throat when she screams.

"BASTARD!"

The crop lands with so much force it breaks the skin, snapping his head to the side. The brass knuckles on her other hand break his jaw. There's a spray of blood and teeth across the pretty pink wall. Her chest heaves with rage and effort, barely pulling in enough air to feed the flames. She steps back, and he looks at her. First there is confusion in his eyes, then, fear.

She is holding a gun. Its clean, and cold, and black; identical to the one he took off a German officer in Berlin last May. He knew it was heavy, but her hands were still, the barrel aimed resolutely between his eyes. He'd enjoyed pushing her, playing with her anger and revulsion for his own twisted pleasure, but he'd let his ego go too far, and now she was going to kill him. The wailing sirens outside were no help. After what he'd done the police would just drive around the block and let her get on with it. Shit!

"P.. !" he doesn't need to fake the tremor in his voice, "I di..didn't mean..."

Her eyes narrow "You did not mean to rape and kill a child?" she spits the words at him and removes the weapon's safety.

"NO!" he's desperate now, tugging at his bonds, eyes searching the room for any way out, "Please! She has a sister. I can... I can tell you where she is!"

"You have touched her also?"

"No; I swear!" he shakes his head hard enough to spill more blood onto his expensive white shirt, "She's too young! Someone else was going to pick her up in the morning..."

Her breath hitched and she had to force herself not to just pull the trigger. "Where is she?"

"Bathroom. Wall behind the tub slides away."

He watched as she jerked her head back in disgusted thanks, and started to lower the gun, slumping into his bindings in relief. Maybe he wasn't going to die today. He'd even managed to save a bit of information for the cops. If he was useful enough they'd even save him from the chair. Not too bad. As a hesitant smile started to creep across his face, however, his captor seemed to change her mind. The gun came back up, and her finger started to close around the trigger. He squeezed his eyes shut at the last minute. There was a loud bang, a rush of warm liquid between his legs, then nothing.

Before running towards the bathroom, the Silhouette looked at the monster passed out in a pool of his own urine, and at the fist sized hole in the plaster above his head and smiled.

The hospital's small chapel was almost deserted this late at night. The overhead lights were turned down low, and only a few of the prayer candles that had been lit today were still burning, casting strange, flickering little shadows across the statues of saints behind them.

One of those candles belonged to Nurse Dawn DeCarlo. She knelt, head bowed and hands clasped, the same as she did every time Ursula went out, whispering to God to keep her lover safe. It didn't matter that the church called the object of her prayer a heretic, and their love sinful, just as long as she was heard, and it brought Ursula back to her unharmed. God would judge them when they died, but for tonight he could keep them together, and whole.

She finished her prayer, crossing her chest like she'd been taught, and stood to leave. There hadn't been anyone else here when she'd come in, so she was a little surprised to see someone moving towards her from one of the dark spaces between the pews. She knew who it was though, the moment he wheeled himself into her path. Sgt. Valentine James had skipped the border to join the Royal Canadian Air Force in 1940, then lost both legs below the knee, and suffered 2nd degree burns over most of his torso when the Lancaster bomber he had been in was shot down 5 years later. He was still one of the most annoyingly cheerful people she'd ever meet.

"Hey there, Nurse Dawn!" He greeted her, broad smile almost alarmingly white against his handsome dark face.

"Hi, Val," she replied evenly, "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Off'ring to tuck me in, Nurse?"

She sighed. How many times had she heard that, anyway? Hundreds, at least. Still, Val wasn't usually that predictable with his innuendo. Him making cheap one liners now was cause for concern. "You OK?"

"Yeh,"

"Really?"

"Not really," He shrugged one shoulder, "but there's nothin' anyone can do 'bout it,"

"You're worried about going home tomorrow?" she guessed.

"Yeh," he wheeled back slightly, positioning his chair next to one of the pews, "Sit down, will ya? you're gonna give me a crick in the neck!"

"Sure," she sat, and waited for him to continue.

After a while staring at his hands, he did, although he found he still couldn't look at her when he spoke. "I can't do any of the things I used to," he said, "Can't run around after my brothers, can't walk. Hell, I wont even be able to get up the stoop on my own! How am I gonna get a job?...or a girl?"

Dawn chuckled, "You'll get a girl. You're a hero, remember? And a damn good looking one!"

"Yeh?" he lifted his head, smiling at her again.

"Yeh," she smiled back.

"What about you?"

"Me?" she almost told him that she already had a girl, before she remembered it was a bad idea.

"I couldn't take you dancing, but we could go to the pictures on Friday?" he suggested hopefully.

"I can't," she smiled gently, and squeezed one of his hands, trying to soften the blow.

It didn't work. He frowned and pulled his hand away angrily. "Because of the chair? Or because I'm a Nigger?" he demanded. "I know you're not married."

"Its nothing as simple as that,"

Although technically it was exactly that simple. She was in love with someone else; so deeply in love with the beautiful, brave, complicated woman who shared her life, that it hurt to even think of spending time apart when they could be in each others arms. She'd never been as happy, or as loved as she was with Ursula, and right now she hated that she had to keep it a secret.

"I'm sorry," she told him. But she wasn't.

"Whatever." He snapped, then turned his chair around and wheeled himself out of the chapel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer/Warnings:** See Chapter 1.

**A/N: **I'd love to hear what you think, good or bad, so feel free to review when you finish reading.

**Darkness and Light; chapter 2.**

"Nasty business," Hollis Mason, as one of the officers called to the scene, met the Silhouette on the street outside the apartment block.

She looked down at the child in her arms, holding her closer and gently brushing the little girl's hair out of the way as she hid her face against her neck. "Some nights I hate what we have to do," she whispered back "What this city makes necessary,"

She hated it more tonight than most. Two little girls taken from their home, one of them violated and murdered while the other was chained in a dark two foot by two foot hole, listening to it happen. There was no sense of pride as she watched the police take that monster away, only despair that she hadn't got there sooner.

He saw the tears gathering in her eyes, the way her pale skin shivered despite the warm night air, but knew enough not to comment. She wouldn't accept his sympathy, no matter how much he meant it. "You want to get a drink?" he offered instead, "I'm off after we get this scum bag down to lock-up, and a bunch of us are headed to Denny's,"

He wouldn't usually ask a beautiful woman to a bar with a hard-drinking group of cops, especially not one with as much class as the Silhouette, but she looked down, and she could handle her self just fine. The guys would probably find her better company than he was anyway, with her good looks and her dark wit. Plus, if he was completely honest with himself, he'd been looking for a way to get to know her better since he'd first met her.

She turned him down though, still absorbed by the child clinging to her. "She needs to see a doctor. I will wait until they find someone to care for her." It didn't look like the little girl was going to let her go any time soon either.

"OK," he shrugged the rejection off easy enough, "But after?"

"I'll go home,"

"You sure you want to be alone after all that?"

The Silhouette couldn't quite stop the small, secretive smile that graced her hips as she replied "I won't be."

A sly smirk appeared on Mason's face, his eyes twinkling as he prepared to tease her about it, but she was already leaving.

As he watched her walk away, one of the other officers came up beside him. "That woman's some piece of art, hey Hollis?" he asked, "Wouldn't you just love to get your hands on her curves?"

Maybe it was a good job she'd said no to the bar. Officer Doyle would have been lucky if it was just his hands the Silhouette broke if he'd tried it.

Dawn's shift finished at 4 am. She knew it could be dangerous to walk home alone at night, but she didn't have much choice. The subway was closed, there were no buses, and she didn't want to spend the money she'd just earned on a taxi no matter how much Ursula begged her to do just that on the nights she couldn't escort her personally. Its not the financial considerations that are sending her out onto the streets tonight, however. Still angry at the world, she needs the walk. She pulls on the pair of slacks she snatched from her girlfriend's side of the closet, and leaves the belt of her light summer jacket untied, hiding her womanly curves as best she can, then strikes out for home.

Although she's angry, and maybe a little reckless, Dawn's not stupid. She sticks to well lit streets, doesn't cut through the park, and pays attention to the rhythm of her heals tapping on the side walk. She listens out for anyone following her, even as she tried to ignore the ache in her heart and the hot tears running down her cheeks.

It wasn't fair, she thought. They'd just fought a war against a regime that had highlighted what hatred and discrimination could lead to, and she still wasn't free to love as she wished. They had to be so careful all the time. The reaction to their passionate, and very public display in Times Square had proved that. They'd been labeled as moral degenerates, an embarrassment to the Minutemen, and a perversion of wholesome American values. When Larry had given a statement to the press writing it off as drunken high spirits, then warned them not to do anything so stupid ever again, Dawn had wanted to punch him. It wasn't stupid, or embarrassing; they were in love. Their relationship was stable, and committed, and a hell of a lot more normal than the closeted sadomasochism and attempted rape that went on elsewhere in the group. It hurt them both to have to hide it. Today's encounter with Sgt. James reminded her of how much.

By the time she turned off Greenwich Avenue towards their apartment on Bank Street she was so preoccupied that she didn't notice the figure leaning against the neighbouring block until she'd walked past. By that point it was easy enough for him to close one hand over her mouth, the other arm round her waist, and drag her into a near-by alley. She didn't even have time to scream. He pushed her roughly against the cold brickwork, holding a knife at her throat.

"Give me your wallet!" he demanded.

Shaking, her eyes wide in fright, she was close to breaking down as she forced herself to say "I don't have one, please let me go?"

"No wallet hmm?" he asked, his spare hand searching her pockets, starting to grope her through the thin fabric when he found only a couple of loose singles, "Maybe I take something else instead,"

"Please don't!" she begged.

He chuckled low in his throat and leaned in to lick at her throat, just above the knife. She squirmed, and tried to turn away, but the sharp blade bit into her skin.

"Don't move, Bella," he warned, hand moving up to cup an ample breast, "just let me enjoy myself,"

That was as far as he got however, because a plum and yellow blur chose that moment to drop from the roof line and drag him off. Two well aimed jabs to the head, and a knee to the gut later, Mothman was standing over the crumpled form of her attacker, flexing the fingers of his right hand.

"Are you OK?" she asked, her own assault forgotten when she realised he could be hurt.

"Yeh," he smiled, holding his hand up in front of him to check for damage, "I don't think any thing's broken,"

"You want me to make sure?"

"Sure," his smile got bigger, "I'll walk you the rest of the way to your place, and you can make me a cup of Silhouette's God-awful coffee while you do it!"

Dawn managed to smile back. She'd always got the impression that Ursula liked Mothman a lot more than she did most of her colleagues, and now she could see why.


	3. Chapter 3

**I still don't own Watchmen (except for the much loved, but battered, copy of the novel on my book case, of course).**

Physically exhausted, and emotionally drained, the Silhouette made it home at about the time most of the other people in her block were leaving for work. Only the thought of who was waiting for her inside gave her the strength to climb the stairs to her apartment. The door opened just as she found her keys, and she was wrapped in her lover's slender arms before she even crossed the threshold.

Lips curling into a soft smile at the enthusiastic greeting, her hands slid down to Dawn's hips and she leaned forward to lay a gentle kiss on the warm lips she'd been longing for for the last few hours. Instead of breaking the kiss like she usually would, and pulling Ursula into the kitchen for a much needed breakfast, Dawn deepened the encounter. Her tongue brushed across her lover's lips, asking for entrance, which was granted on a soft groan, and she pressed the stronger woman back against the door, using their bodies to close it. They kissed like that for a few moments, hot and eager, until Ursula realised that Dawn was shaking, and tenderly eased them apart.

"Dawn?" she asks, "Is something wrong mein Engel?"

"I..." Dawn couldn't look at her. Ursula, who could be aloof and abrasive with others, was always so kind to her, and she knew that she'd never hold her responsible for what happened, but Dawn couldn't face the worry she knew she'd see in her lover's eyes. Especially when it was her fault it was there. "I walked," she admitted.

"That's all right, Süẞe. I'm not angry," Ursula was careful to keep her voice low and soothing. There was more to this than the walk, but if she pushed too hard, or let her own anxiety affect her in any way, she'd never find out what. She reached out, using the pad of one thumb to wipe away her girlfriends tears. Then, trailing gentle fingers down her cheek, she cupped her chin and tilted her face up so she could see her eyes. "Tell me what happened,"

Dawn took a trembling breath, trying to calm her self enough to explain. "There was a man...and I...He...I was so scared," she said, before her arms wrapped around the other woman's waist again, and she sought shelter against her body.

Ursula rested a hand on the back of Dawn's head, holding her close, lips softly brushing a kiss against her temple. "Did he hurt you?"

Relief flooded through her at Dawn's murmured "No,"

"Good. Did Mothman do much damage when he stopped him?"

"He hit him so hard that he broke a bone in his own hand. I had to splint it for him," Dawn stepped back, confusion dancing in her pale eyes as she asked "How did you know?"

Ursula shrugged one elegant shoulder, "I asked him to make sure that you got home safely,"

"Thank you,"

The kiss they shared was sweet, and ended on a sigh. They were home; they were safe; and they were both very tired. With the fear and the worry gone they crumbled against each other. Barely awake, neither of them would have made it to the bedroom without the other's support. The curtains were too far away to be closed. Undressing properly would have taken too much energy. They fell into the middle of the bed tangled together, and were asleep in seconds.

Six hours later Ursula is woken by the mid afternoon sun streaming through the west facing windows. She mumbles something unintelligible in German, and screws her eyes shut tighter against the glare, but by that point its too late. Sleeping in a corset, even one with hastily loosened stays, is uncomfortable, and she's just awake enough to feel the beginnings of bruising where Dawn's light weight has pushed the boning into her skin. Weather she manages to remove the offending item without disturbing her bed partner or not, the mild pain will be enough to stop her sleeping. Resigned to her fate, she sighs, and carefully rolls them both over, relieving some of the pressure before settling back to watch her lover sleep. The sight that greets her eyes as she rolls away makes her gasp.

Always beautiful, Dawn looks like an angel bathed in sunlight with her peaceful smile and the golden highlights in her dark curls shining like a halo. Her legs are bare, and her half open uniform casts interesting shadows across her honeyed skin. Ursula can't help but lean over and kiss one exposed breast. When she draws away, Dawn whimpers in her sleep, so she smiles and leans back in to lick a moist trail over the swell of soft flesh and up her lover's neck towards her ear. When her tongue finds a new ridge on the delicate skin below Dawn's jaw, she stops. There is a thin pink line there, ending in a fleck of dried blood. The man from last night must have had a knife. Ursula frowns, glaring at the mark in the way she has that makes everything else want to run for its life, but the mark remains. If she'd seen it last night she could not have been so calm. As it is she is torn between the need to curl herself around her lover and make sure nobody hurts her ever again, and the desire to go out and rip the city apart until she finds this man then do the same to him.

Before she can make the decision, though, a sleepy voice interrupts her thoughts. "Stop it, 'Sul', I can feel you staring!"

Ursula's fingers trace the thin scratch, and her hard eyes soften. "I..." she has no way to express the mess of anger, and protectiveness, and regret she's feeling; not in German, and not in English; so she settles for "I love you,"

"I love you too, and I'm OK," Dawn's eyes flicker open, and she smiles brightly, "Although I was enjoying waking up a lot more when you were kissing me!"

There's a strange sadness in Ursula's eyes as she smiles back, but she lowers her lips to meet her lover's in a kiss that's equal parts apology and affirmation. Her mouth tastes of salt, and her cheeks are damp where Dawn's fingers stroke them, and she realises she must be crying. Her smile deepens with the kiss. These are the first tears she's cried since Austria. Dawn helps her feel so much she thought she wasn't capable of any more. "Thank you," she slurs against her lips, before sliding her tongue through the words and into her lover's waiting mouth.

Dawn kisses her back; slow and deep and joyful. They consume each other. The trauma of their lives disappears under the slick stroke of lips and tongues. There is nothing left except the feeling of release, the moist warmth of their mouths, and the shuddering breaths they take for each other. Its like drowning together, and when they come up for air they are renewed.

"God..." someone sighs, and they melt back into each other.

The second kiss is harder. Dawn bites down on her lover's lower lip, pushing fingers into her silky black hair. Passion flares into lust. Ursula nips back, taking her mouth with bruising force before moving further down her body. Teeth scrape across her jaw, to be replaced by soft lips and a soothing tongue. Fingers, then kisses trail down her throat, and Dawn gasps at the contact, arching her head back for more. Ursula laps gently at the mark left by the knife, bathing the damaged skin, then sucks more strongly at her lover's pulse point, leaving a mark of her own. Hands stroke down heated skin, fingers pop open buttons and catches, pushing fabric out of the way of that talented mouth.

Dawn pants, nails curling into the other woman's shoulder, urging her on. "Please," she whispers.

"Please what?" Ursula chuckles against her collarbone, lips vibrating, spreading a delicious tingling sensation across her chest. "Tell me what you want, Süẞe"

"I..." Dawn breathes out shakily. Heat coils low in her belly and she's helpless when her lover's dark head dips to one breast. A tongue rasps across the sensitive nipple, followed by a stream of warm air that makes it swell and tighten, and she looses whatever else she would have said in a sharp hiss.

"Tell me," Ursula insists, nipping lightly at the creamy flesh where it meets the dark areola.

"I want..."

"Yes?" another flick of the tongue.

"I want you to touch me..." Dawn's voice cracks "GOD!"

Ursula smiles, and draws the nipple fully into her mouth. Teeth bare down, and she tugs gently, suckling for a few moments before finally giving in to her lover's request. Her weight shifts, and her back flexes and rounds, giving her the space she needs. She gives the nipple one last lingering kiss, then brushes her cheek against it and turns to watch her hand's descent. Strong, pale fingers trip over ribs, painting crazy patterns around her navel, then follow a line of trembling muscle down to where it disappears into silk and lace panties. "Like this?" she asks.

"Oh, yes," breathes Dawn, bowing her neck to kiss Ursula's midnight hair. "just like that,"

AN/ There is a couple more paragraphs to this section, but I was unsure of posting them to this site due to content.


	4. Chapter 4

Its later than usual when the Silhouette arrives at Minutemen HQ, but not late enough to miss the others. The lights are still on in the front of the building, and she can see gauzy figures moving around beyond the meeting-room's thin drapes. She doesn't want to get caught up in the drinking, bickering, and casual racism, that normally marks the end of one of Captain Metropolis' planning sessions, so avoids the front door, and creeps around the building through the shadows to the fire escape instead. A short jump catches her the second rung of the rusty ladder, and she swings the rest of her body up behind her hands in one graceful, practised motion. From there its just a matter of keeping her footfalls quiet until she draws level with the ledge of Night Owl's third floor office, and keeping her balance as she steps across. There's just enough space to jam her riding crop under the ill-fitting window and lever it open to slip inside. Masked adventurers really should have better security, but as long as the lapse stops her from running the gauntlet on nights like this one, she isn't going to complain. Hollis knew, of course, but he'd been willing to put up with her dropping in, and the draught, when she'd shown him how to sneak around his team-mates. Just one more thing they weren't telling the others, he'd said.

Tonight though, she might as well have crashed through the main entrance for all the good her 'escape route' did her. As she rounded the corner from Night Owl's office she practically stepped on Silk Spectre. Great.

When she realised who was in front of her a look came over the red-head's pretty face that might have been equal parts anger and triumph, had it not more closely resembled a fourteen-year-old's pout. "You're late," she said.

"Yes," her accent thickens the word, making the terse reply even more so.

"You missed the meeting," Sally tries, hoping for a more satisfying response.

"Yes,"

"Well, don't you have an explanation?!" the pole is irritated now. There's a frown forming on her pleasant, open features, and a definite set to her delicate jaw. The Silhouette smiles when she sees it.

"Not for you, Miss Juspeczyk." she says, dark eyes glittering with wry amusement.

"Jupiter!" Sally hates it when the Silhouette uses the old form of her name. She's done it so often, that it shouldn't bother her any more, but some how it still grates. It doesn't help that the Austrian woman, with her educated Central European accent, can pronounce the damn thing better than Sally's drawn-out American vowels will ever manage.

"As you say," the Silhouette agrees, and takes advantage of the other woman's temporary distraction to step around her and head for the solitude of her own office. There are some aspects of the predictability of the world, and the people in it, that she wouldn't change for anything.

Sally put on a display in the corridor complaining about her arrogance, and she made it the rest of the way unimpeded. Nobody was going to come looking for her while there was a starlet to placate. Closing the door to shut out the drama she'd created, the Silhouette allowed her self a few moments to breathe before flipping on the lights and crossing to the desk to start her night's work.

After seeing Dawn to the hospital for the start of her shift, she'd returned home to change, and spent the best part of an hour scouring the alleyway for any sign of last night's attacker. The search had yielded a good quality paring knife hastily kicked behind a trash can, and a balled up handkerchief. She hated the thought of that knife pressed against her lover's throat, but apart from a slight discolouration on the blade that might have been blood, it was unremarkable. The handkerchief was far more useful. It was old, covered in grime and spots of what smelt like olive oil, and when she smoothed it out she found a carefully embroidered G in one corner, and a panel of worn Florentine lace. Was the attacker Italian? It would fit with what Dawn had told her. The man had called her 'Bella' when he'd touched her. It wasn't much to go on, given how close they lived to the tenements below Washington Square Park, but it gave her something to look for as she combed through the duplicate police reports she'd lifted from Night Owl's bookshelf.

It took her most of the night, but eventually she had a name. Guilio Conti had been noted as a person of interest in three muggings and a sexual assault around Greenwich Village a month ago. Although the attack on Dawn would be the first time he'd come as far north as Bank St, it felt right. All the incidents had happened at between three and four in the morning. The victims were young, slightly built, and fairly affluent, and the description of the woman who'd been assaulted was heartbreakingly familiar. Alessandra Byrne was 27, small and pretty. She had pale skin, big blue eyes, and curly dark hair. In the right light, she and Dawn could have probably passed as sisters.

Despite being sure Conti had something to do with all four unsolved crimes, the police seemed to have given up looking for him. He didn't have a job, nobody asked knew who his friends were, and every time they tried to catch up with him at his parent's restaurant on West Houston St he was mysteriously absent. The last note on any of these cases was ten days old. He'd probably felt safe enough to try his luck again last night.

She sighed, and looked up at the clock. Not enough time to find him now. She had to leave to meet Dawn in a few minutes, and first she wanted to talk to Mothman. Maybe he'd like to come out to dinner with her tomorrow night. She had a sudden craving for pasta.


End file.
